


When We Were Young

by cuckleberrywish



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-JE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuckleberrywish/pseuds/cuckleberrywish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor stumbles on someone familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When We Were Young

As it happens, the Doctor is broodily tinkering beneath the console when the TARDIS lands with a sudden jolt. The Doctor nearly cracks his skull on a bit of piping and curses under his breath as he disentangles himself from the bowels of his ship and slithers back onto his feet.

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” the Doctor says aloud, painfully aware of the petulant whine that his crept into his voice. The TARDIS pointedly opens the doors and the Doctor rolls his eyes. The TARDIS whirrs unhappily. Unphased, the Doctor reaches for the dematerialization lever and yelps as he is rewarded with a painful shock.

“Fine. You win.”

Grumbling all the way, he tosses his duster over his shoulder from where it’s cast aside on a coral strut and makes his way outside the TARDIS doors which close promptly behind him.

He steps into a nondescript alleyway, sandwiched between two vast brick buildings.

“Right, let’s see what you want, then,” he says glumly to the alley at large.

He’s only walked a short distance when he sees a young woman slumped against the wall of the pub on the corner.  He can see that her shoulders are shaking slightly, a cigarette loosely trailing from the hand that isn’t vigorously rubbing at her eyes which are red and puffy even from a distance. The Doctor approaches her carefully.

“Are you okay?”

“Fuck off.”

“Right…er... sorry then.”

She looks so surprised at his easy dismissal that her gaze snaps to his, and the Doctor feels his hearts skip a beat.

He’s looking into the face of Donna Noble.

She’s not quite _his_ Donna Noble yet, no. She can’t be older than 17. But she holds herself with just the same touch of bluster as his Donna and if he knows his Donna (and he’s quite sure he does, or _did_ , he thinks with a pang) she is desperately hurting and is too proud to show it.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” he blurts without thinking. Mistrust flickers in her eyes and she crosses her arms tightly around herself.

“Nerys and Matt know where I am so if you’re thinking anything dodgy, don’t even bother trying, mate,” she says firmly, the quaver in her voice betraying her nerves. She juts her chin out defiantly, just like his Donna.  

“N-no of course not I just… please?”

She looks a little disarmed by his stuttering and nods numbly, stubbing out her cigarette beneath her heel. “Yeah, okay.”

They make their way away from the pub and he can see she’s a little wobbly, stumbling on her coltish legs when her heel gets caught in the pavement.

“Have you been drinking?” he asks her sharply, and she scowls at him.

“Who are you, my flipping mother?” she shoots back, but doesn’t protest when he puts a careful arm around her to keep her steady.

They walk in silence for a little while and he pretends not to notice her shivering or surreptitiously swiping at the tears still leaking down her cheeks. He steers her into a little cafe with dim lighting and squashy chairs and sits down opposite her. He doesn’t say anything, just watches her as she ineffectively tries to swipe at the dark circles beneath her eyes where her heavy make up has run. She won’t look at him and he desperately wants her to.

“I thought you were gonna buy me coffee,” she mumbles after a while and obediently the Doctor rises and orders for both of them. When he returns, she’s scowling out the window at the glittering street beyond.

“Nerys is a fucking cow,” she says suddenly, vehemently. He doesn’t respond, just watches her placidly over the rim of his teacup and waits for her to elaborate. He’s long figured out that the best way to get her to talk is to listen quietly. She shoots him a questioning look and he just inclines his head, inviting her to continue.

“I have this mate, right, Matt he’s called. Bit more than a mate, really-” she swallows hard. “But me and him and Nerys made plans tonight to go round the pub but then they ring me separately when I’m about to leave and say they can’t go. I say okay, I’ll go with someone else so I get to the pub and he’s with Nerys, and I mean properly _with_ Nerys like snogging her right there at the bar and everything.”

Her grip on her coffee mug has turned white-knuckled. “I tried to talk to Matt because Nerys is always a right cow even if she is my friend but Matt is really lovely and he starts saying all these _things_ to me these awful things that I just can’t–”

She pauses and swallows again, eyes downcast.

“I mean I think he was completely off his face because he’d never have been so mean if he was in his right mind, I know him, we… we were…”

She trails off, biting her lip and privately the Doctor thoroughly disagrees with her assessment of this Matt bloke as “really lovely.” When she speaks again, her voice is so quiet the Doctor has to strain his ears to listen.

“I know it’s not a big deal or nothing but he was my… it was my first–” she looks up sharply there, as if she’d almost let something slip that she hadn’t meant to, and watches him suspiciously for a moment before continuing, “–and now he’s just finished with me.”

She sighs and inhales deeply into her coffee and he can see the fight has drained from her. Her face is drawn and more weary than her 17 some odd years of life ought to allow.

“Thanks for this,” she says after a while, holding up her coffee mug without meeting his gaze. He nods tightly at her. Silence falls between again and she studies the contents of her drink dispassionately and fiddles with the hem of her skirt. In so many ways, she’s still such a child. It breaks his hearts to think of her hurting like this.

She gives a shuddery breath and he gets the sense she’s trying to collect herself, or maybe berating herself for sharing so much. “So are you a perv, or what?” she asks drily, with the air of changing the subject. He chuckles and shakes his head.

“I’m a friend.”

She looks dubious, studying him shrewdly for a long moment before apparently deciding if he is some sort of kidnapper, he’s clearly a bit shit at it and is not worth her suspicion.  

“So you just go around picking up girls in alleys, then?”

“I–I haven’t _picked up_ anyone,” he sputters indignantly, “I was just– I just wanted to–”

He cuts off because her eyes are glinting with humour and it’s such a familiar expression– the gentle teasing smile tugging at her lips, the quirk of her brows– that he almost wants to cry. He huffs out a laugh and her smile grows a little. “Not girls. Just you.”  

“Why me?”

“Because you’re brilliant.”

Her gaze snaps to his and the familiar blue-gold of her irises makes his hearts clench all over again. Tears brim in her eyes and he takes a chance, reaching up to cover her hand on the table with his. She doesn’t move her hand.

They sit in silence for a while until she yawns hugely and he decides it’s time to go. He hails her a cab but can’t bear to leave her, not now that she’s holding his hand, already tremulously trusting him just like she will that first day she meets him. But then she’s so vulnerable he thanks Rassilon he was the one to have found her. This time, he thinks, this time he’ll keep her safe.

Despite the coffee, the drink and the rough evening conspire against her and almost as soon as he slides into the cab next to her she dozes off, her head lolling on his shoulder. He can’t help smoothing his finger softly over her gently furrowed brow and she relaxes, her face finally placid and youthful. He tells himself he'll get out round the next corner and walk back to the TARDIS but he doesn't make any move to stop the cab as he watches the bright lights of the high street fade into the distance as they wind their way through her familiar neighborhood. God, he misses her. Even this half-formed, version of her. He knows from late night conversations on the TARDIS it’s not the first time something like this has happened to her. He only wishes he could be there to get her home safely every time.

When they pull up in front of her house he shoves a few crumpled notes at the cabbie (hopefully at the very least an Earth currency– he doesn’t stop to check; precious cargo and all that) and carefully extricates her from the cab, holding her gently in his arms as he heads up her front walk. She snuffles a little bit in her sleep and fists her hands in the lapels of his jacket and suddenly he finds it very hard to breathe indeed.

Unfortunately, it’s Sylvia who answers the door.

She gasps and looks like she’s about to start shouting but the Doctor quickly hushes her and he’s ushered inside. He lays Donna down on the sofa and is shoved back outside with a sharp jab between his shoulder blades as soon as he’s put her down.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?! Do you know how old she is? Bet she told she was of age, didn’t she, but she’s _not_ she’s a bloody _child_ and shame on you for taking advantage of her!”

“I didn’t–”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, you must be more than twice her age! Old enough to know better certainly! I’ve half a mind to call the police right here and now–”

“Mum!”

Donna has roused, no doubt awoken by her mother’s shouting.

"You... you're still here," Donna says, and for a moment he thinks she'll start shouting at him as well, but instead she gives him a half smile. 

“Don’t even get me _started_ on you, snuck out again, did ya? Thought I wouldn’t notice? Come home smelling like drink and cigarettes, you’re going to get yourself _killed_ you stupid, stupid girl–”

“Mum _nothing happened_!”

“Pull the other one, it’s got bells on,” Sylvia snorts derisively.

Angry tears are welling up in Donna’s eyes and the Doctor can’t take it.

“I found your daughter. I bought her coffee and brought her home. I can assure you my intentions were only to make sure she got home okay. Now if you don’t mind, I have to be on my way, and I’m sure your lovely daughter would like nothing more than to get to bed–”

“Don’t you tell me what my daughter needs–” Sylvia begins, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“Goodnight.”

The Doctor turns to leave but before he can get halfway down the path, a blur of ginger hair and creamy limbs assaults him, attaching firmly to his midriff. He stops and looks down at the face of Donna Noble, upturned, tear-washed and bright with that wane smile that makes his hearts skip a beat at its familiarity.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her eyes blazing.

He smiles and hugs her tightly, tries to savour the feeling of her body wrapped in his, of her hair and her smell.

Just as quickly as she’d appeared, she’s off like a shot down her front walk and the door is swinging closed behind her.

And just like that, Donna Noble walks out of his life again.


End file.
